Retribution
by Mandy138
Summary: A venture into a possibility behind Movie speculations on Roy and his series' actions. Prelude to 'Bitter Salvation'. Movie and Series spoilers.


Just assume that the unconfirmed 'dead' character was somehow rescued in the nick of time. - Lust was there, after all, and could have sent for him to be picked up. You know how the Fuhrer hates to dispose of useful people. XD

Prelude to _Bitter Salvation_.

* * *

"All rise," a voice rang out regally. There was a shuffling of chairs as the plaintiffs and defendants scraped them along the wood floors to obey the command, the rustlings of fabrics at the witnesses' movements. The judge swept through the room and shambled up to his podium, doing away with all pretenses of ceremony and sat heavily in his chair. "You may be seated."

"The military court of Amestris will now hand out the rulings in the case of Amestris vs. Roy Mustang. Will the defendant please rise," the same voice said with a pointed look towards him.

He _would_ rise, or rather, he had no choice. And so with a nervous flick of eye movement to his appointed 'lawyer', he once again scooted his chair away from the furniture and stood at parade attention, fingertips brushing the tabletop and crisp uniform snapping into place. His 'lawyer' followed his actions but clasped his hands in front. He let it fade as his attention was absorbed by the table farther away, his earnings displayed upon it; his epaulettes, his watch, his precious gloves.

"For crimes and actions committed against Amestris resulting in the loss of leadership, and a past of remarkable service in the furthering of Her glory, Amestris has decided to exercise _some_ leniency." There was a small pause and _look_ directed to him. He could feel it and half see it from around his nose and patch as he gazed just above the judge's seat.

"For the charge of insubordination, guilty," his voice echoed throughout the chamber.

"For the charge of insurrection, not guilty."

"For the charge of conspiracy, guilty."

"For the charge of conspiracy with intent to murder, guilty."

"For the charge of assassination of a political figurehead…guilty."

Understandably, there was a gasp that ran through the crows, cheesy and cliché as in all the stories his brother told him growing up, but notably less so when it was _him_ they were concerning. The announcer seemed to shake off the unnerving himself before quickly continuing, his voice rapidly brought under control to finish the reading.

"Once again, because of past service and dedication to the motherland, the following judgments were reached in honor of undeniably instrumental involvement of services rendered in the Ishbal Conflict." There was no look here. "It is this court's decision that former Colonel Roy Mustang is hereby relieved of command and stripped of his rank and title of State Alchemist."

His throat closed, eye shut, and head falling back. The ruling was _painful_ even when expected. He had never seriously considered them revoking his alchemist rank; it made him who he was and one of their valuable weapons and forces. It felt like alchemy was lost to him, now… He felt like crying.

"In place of an outright discharge, however, a demotion to Warrant Officer shall instead be issued. You are to henceforth remain no less than twenty-five yards from your former staff and will be placed under the command of General Hakuro and in the direct control of Major General Franklin Archer, at Central Headquar-"

"I _object_!" the booming shout reverberated in the room, his voice fueled by anger and absolute indignation, fists pounded into the table and shaking with fury. "I _will not _serve such a _murderer_!"

Hakuro he could have dealt with, would have adjusted, but _never_ Archer! With the death of one colonel and the demotion of another, there had apparently been room for the recent good graces of the increasingly less human Archer to earn him _his_ position and _then_ some. While he hadn't prevented the death of the Fuhrer, he'd been there to stop the assassin and bring him in for a nice, _fat_ promotion. It had obviously been foreseen and planned with this turnabout, damnit. This was the ultimate disgrace, and of course the bastard was there watching it all. He knew that smug smirk to be twisting what remained of his lips through it all and knew his outburst only caused it to grow, no doubt causing the…_thing_ to bask in his delusions of finally obtained hero status.

The official that had been reading had looked up over his shoulder to the judge questioningly, his interruption unnerving. The judge merely traded looks with the man before looking over his glasses upon the irate young man below him. "There is nothing to object over, Warrant Officer Mustang," it was stated so matter-of-factly, the intentional use of his new 'title' meant to sting. "These are the judgments handed down."

"I refuse!"

Something changed in the judge's demeanor and he straightened, his gavel snapping once. "There will be no refusal. These are non-negotiable and if you do not compose yourself, Warrant Officer, I will stiffen the penalties." The threat was not empty and the judge was intent on putting the whining and disobedient child in his place.

"That man is an _insane_-"

"Warrant Officer!" the judge's voice bellowed following a gavel strike.

"Psychotic-"

"That was your last warning, Sergeant Major!"

"Mass murdering-"

"Sergeant Mustang!"

"_Sociopath_ not fit for command!"

"That's _it_! _Corporal _Mustang, _if_ you cannot hold your tongue and even _one_ word more escapes from that hot mouth, I will throw out the decided upon rulings and have your ass _discharged_!"

Roy looked down at the table, not wholly ashamed but feeling things so much more profoundly. He couldn't afford to be discharged; he didn't know anything else. The thought of being suddenly thrown into civilian life was unpleasant for several reasons, those among them being no free housing, no pay, and the true failure of his dream. Sure, he could eventually find a job and earn something, but he knew nothing _but_ alchemy and the militaristic life. It scared him.

"Am I understood?" The question was delivered firmly and still borderline anger.

"Yes, sir," he voiced softly, still gazing at the gloved fingertips trying to dig into the table.

"I'm pleased we've finally reached an agreement," he said, light sarcasm running as an undertone to his tried patience. He banged his gavel twice to settle the murmurs still rippling through the crowd before addressing the foreman. "Carry on, Mr. Walters."

"Yes, sir," came the reply. "A transfer of command is to be completed. The defendant is to be placed under twenty-four hour surveillance and it is to be carried out by the military police. This concludes the rulings."

"Now, do you still have any questions, _Corporal_ Mustang?"

He shook his head, belatedly realizing that verbal responses were required for transcription purposes. "No, sir."

"Very well, then. Court adjourned." The judge was eager to get out of there and promptly gathered his papers in a tightly clutched grip after the official gavel sounding. He glided from his chair, seemingly floating to swagger across the floor and slamming the door behind him as he retreated to his private study.

The lawyer said something to him and he watched as some officer went to the table and confiscated _his_ things. No more title, no more freedom, so little power and so helpless. Goodbye Library, goodbye paycheck, goodbye easy life…goodbye family. Was this some kind of punishment, divine deliverance into the fate he'd called upon himself? Or was it retribution, all the Ishbalites killed by his hand, his fingers, haunting him from beyond and cursing his life? He was a scientist at heart and yet that notion seemed so plausible, so likely he couldn't let it go. Retribution, indeed. What was he thinking? Had he even been? Losing control like that. Nine ranks, State Alchemist, nine ranks…

Fuck.

He hated himself. He should be worrying about the others. Save the biggest perpetrator for last, eh. He needed to find out how the others fared, how badly he'd fucked them over, and apologize and promise to somehow make it up to them, to pay them back for all their loyalty and dedicated service.

"Ah, look what we have here?" the sauve, controlled, and mocking timbre came, Roy's mind supplying a never-too-pleasant visage of Archer's hands scratching at his as they crushed his throat, eyes bulging from blood and oxygen depravation. "How's my little soldier?"

"_Fuck you_, Archer," he rasped, saliva coating his lips in his vehemence.

"Now, now, Corporal. That's no way to talk to your superior and _commanding_ officer." Damn the smug mother-. One of these days…

"It's not official yet, you sadist, so _back off_." He couldn't even look at the man, so unsure that he wouldn't kill the lowest life-form of _human_ if he got a hold of him. And so it was with some ironic gratefulness that he let the newly assigned MP invade the confrontation and escort him to wherever it was they had planned. His right hand came up to squeeze against his eyes, sore from the emotion and intense staring, jerking as it collided with the patch and instead rubbing the one before gripping the bridge of his nose. He couldn't help but feel things would only get worse when they should get better.

* * *

This is a revised version and the original can be found at my homepage. 


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